


Astoria

by thegraceinyoureyes



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Miscarriage, Problems During Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-16
Updated: 2013-04-16
Packaged: 2017-12-08 16:44:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/763661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceinyoureyes/pseuds/thegraceinyoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The five moments that defined Astoria Malfoy's relationship with her husband.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Astoria

**1.**  
They were the ruined children of ruined families. He had money and a name that brought disgust to any upstanding citizen’s face. She had social standing and not a penny in the bank. Their parents had it all planned and they would, of course, follow through.  
  
They had never met.  
  
When they did, she offered him a clipped smile and he kissed the back of her hand. She resisted the urge to wipe her hand clean, being well-brought up in that way. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking; his expression was blank, eyes pained and unfocused. He barely seemed aware of the conversation deciding his future occurring around him. She studied him from the corner of her eye, nodding and smiling politely at Mrs Malfoy the rest of the time. The house was beautiful, at least. Its gardens needed work, and the décor brightening, but all was manageable. She could be content here, she thought to herself. She’d spotted a spacious east-facing room that would make an excellent nursery.  
  
When they stood to leave, exchanging pleasantries with Mrs Malfoy, he had to be subtly nudged by his mother who, watching her son with sadness rather than anger, reminded him that the Greengrasses were leaving, and didn’t he want to say goodbye to his fiancé? He turned his gaze to Astoria, looking straight at her for the first time. She offered him her hand once again. He stared at it for a minute before glancing at his mother, and leant forward to kiss her cheek instead. He was warmer than she had expected. She smiled at him properly, feeling that he deserved it. His gaze didn’t leave her until the green flames had obstructed his vision.  
  
  
 **2.**  
It was the first time she’d been alone with him. The day had gone well – it had snowed, which both mothers had counted on by planning around an ice theme, the bridesmaids (her sister, and a friend from school) in pale blue and Draco and his groomsman (Blaise Zabini, was the curt answer when she had asked Daphne) in dark grey dress robes. Warming charms had been cast in abundance in the drafty Malfoy chapel. Their kiss had been brief; their first, and only, dance stiff. The few that had attended left shortly after the five-course meal that had been heavy and leaden in her stomach. And now she and her husband were alone in their rooms.  
  
He was in his dressing room, preparing for bed. She was in hers, looking at the ivory silk lingerie set out for her. Trembling, she stepped into it, smoothing down the folds over her stomach with shaking hands. She’d always been thin, and she didn’t fill out the slinky, sexy outfit like it was meant to be filled, hanging loosely over her chest. She swallowed, her narrow throat bobbing, as she let down her hair, thick and heavy; combed the pale gold strands over her body so she felt safer, more protected.  
  
Draco was waiting by the time she’d worked up the courage to enter the bedroom. An apology flew from her lips. He watched her. Moved closer slowly, as if testing the waters. He touched her shoulders and pressed his mouth to hers; she knew he could feel her shaking as she shifted closer, putting her hands on his back, like Daphne had said to do. Daphne had said other things, things that Astoria didn’t want to think about, so hadn’t. Until now. Now she couldn’t escape. A small smile and a handshake wouldn’t cut it.  
  
Draco moved back and took her hand, holding it too tight. His palm was damp and she felt an odd surge of relief, that he, too was nervous. That he felt just as she did. She would later think that it was at that moment that her heart softened to him, opened up to offer him entry if he should so chose. It was in that moment that she became his wife.  
  
  
 **3.**  
Then came the years of aching silence where Draco gave himself to his work, to bettering the Malfoy name in the only way left open to him. She could count on one hand the number of conversations her and Draco had had that lasted longer than ten minutes. She redecorated. Remodelled the garden. And again. And again. She resigned her life to one of loneliness, of drifting around the large, empty house, with only the house elves, and portraits that sneered as she passed, and the ghost of Narcissa Malfoy for company.  
  
Narcissa had passed away shortly after their marriage, it was a quiet death, followed by a quiet afterlife spent mostly in her morning room, which was the one room Astoria hadn’t touched. That and Draco’s study, and the catacomb of underground rooms which she’d never been allowed to see. Astoria read, painted and drew, silently longing for a child to light up the hollow shell of her home.  
  
“Astoria.” She had been working on a particularly detailed drawing of a pretty rose she'd introduced to one of the southern borders. It stood poised, slender and elegant in the small crystal-cut vase. It has been beheaded neatly at two and half inches from its beautiful head, and the petals had yet to droop. The colour began as a deep apricot flush at the petals' bases, spreading upwards, paling in colour as it went, into a pure, soft white. It was one of her favourites.  
  
"Astoria." Came again, impatience creeping into his voice. "The mediwitch is here."  
  
She set down her pencil, running her fingers over the flower gently before standing. "I'm going, Draco, you can go back to work, if you like."  
  
She left the room without seeing if he was following her. The mediwitch was a kind, efficient, and most importantly, discreet, woman, who rose at Astoria's entrance into the morning room.  
  
"Mrs Malfoy, how are you this morning?" They shook hands and were about to settle into business, but Draco slipped into the room and sat beside his wife before they could start.  
  
"Healer Simmons, do continue." Was all he said.  
  
The mediwitch glanced between them, as Draco had never attended one of their appointments before now. "I have the results of the tests I conducted last time I was here, Mrs Malfoy, and-"  
  
"Tests?" Draco interjected.  
  
"Mrs Malfoy didn't...? Ah, well, yes, after the two miscarriages-" Astoria closed her eyes, pained, as she always was, at the memories. She felt a hand covering hers, but when she opened her eyes, Draco was listening intently to the mediwitch.  
  
She hadn't told him about the first one; it had happened before she had even realised the baby's existence, but it had still hurt in more ways than one. The second had been worse; she had nearly carried the child to full term, the nursery had been decorated, friends and relatives notified, when she had awoken one morning to bloody sheets and had been rushed to St. Mungo's. Since then, Draco had insisted on the mediwitch visiting once a month, increasing to every week when Astoria fell pregnant again.  
  
She was in her third trimester, her stomach swollen and protruding from her thin body, the thin blue dress stretched tight.  
  
As the mediwitch broke the news that the baby - a boy, she said - was healthy, and that there was still nothing that could prevent a successful pregnancy. Astoria sagged a little with relief and, as Draco's arm came down around her, she realised that he must truly care for their child, for the unborn hope within her. Not just the chance of continuing, and improving, the Malfoy name, but for the tiny person itself. The surge of affection she felt then for her husband was sudden, and like nothing she'd felt before. On an impulse, she turned and kissed him, right there in front of what was, essentially, staff.  
  
He was startled, frozen, but put his other hand on her knee and responded to her kiss hesitantly. The moment seemed suspended in time; fragile and precious. She broke the embrace, remembering the mediwitch’s presence even though Draco seemed to have forgotten her entirely. She had never known him to be so remiss before, and she couldn’t help the small smile that crept onto her face as a consequence. As the healer left, Draco turned to Astoria and took her hand, smiling at her, almost shyly. He lay his other hand, carefully, on her stomach.  
  
  
 **4.**  
Scorpius was- quite simply, perfect. He had Draco’s thoughtful, deliberate way of speaking and his pride. But his quiet consideration of other people, gentle mannerisms and wounded brown eyes were all Astoria. She’d never known a love that strong, that fierce and all-consuming. The moment his tiny body had been placed in her arms, she had felt his fluttering heartbeat against her palm, his fingers so small against her own; she gave herself, body and soul, to her son.  
  
And now, he looked small and vulnerable again in his too-big Hogwarts robes, his face pinched and pale with fear. She was dressed impeccably, on Draco’s instructions, a black cloak done up to her neck and her hair pulled back from her face. Draco was tense and irritable, one hand firm and possessive on Scorpius’ shoulder, challenging everyone who saw them to judge his son. And they did stare. Astoria had flushed crimson at the attention, but Draco and Scorpius had stayed cool and calm.  
  
And there he was; Harry Potter. She touched Draco’s arm in a gesture of silent support. He set his jaw after a moment or two, and turned away from the Golden Family to look at his pale son. Scorpius had seen the Potters and Weasleys, and his father’s reaction.  
  
He tugged on her sleeve, being a mummy’s boy to the bone, and asked quietly, “Who are they?”  
  
Draco heard and looked alarmed for a moment, his gaze flickering with vulnerability. She didn’t know how, but something about Harry Potter reminded Draco forcefully and bluntly of the boy he once was, and all that he had fought to achieve was rendered meaningless. She ached for him when he was like this. “They... they are people I once knew, Scorpius, that’s all.”  
  
“Okay.” Scorpius went back to people-watching, a favourite hobby of his, and staring at the gleaming train in awe. Astoria touched his hair, fingers skimming over his forehead affectionately. Draco suddenly took her hand. She jolted in surprise but held on tightly, letting him share her strength.  
  
And when Scorpius climbed aboard, disappearing for several minutes until his shining head appeared at a window further down the train, and he waved and waved and waved, until they couldn’t see him for steam and bereft parents. She turned to Draco, felt his hand on her lower back as he guided her back into King’s Cross. She didn’t see Harry Potter and his family again, and when they arrived home seconds later, any thoughts of them were wiped away, and she was left only with emptiness where there had been childish laughter and insatiable curiosity, and a passion for knowledge unlike any she’d ever seen.  
  
Draco curled his arm tight around her, and smiled into her startled face. “But now we have the house all to ourselves.” The smooth sound of violin music came from the morning room, “Well, apart from Mother,” Draco added, breaking into a small chuckle. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.  
  
  
 **5.**  
Then came Albus Potter. A Potter in his face, his sooty hair, his temperament. A Potter who was so close to a Malfoy. She wasn’t surprised when she got the letter about his ‘wonderful’ new friend and his huge family and his sweet tooth and his rubbish flying skills, evened out by his genius for Charms. She was, however, surprised when the friendship lasted. The youngest Potter boy must be different to the rest of his loud, vibrant family, because Scorpius didn’t like loud things. They were in their sixth year by the time Scorpius allowed his parents to meet his best friend. It would seem he’d been told of the history between their fathers, presumably by Albus, and he had acted with caution when it came to mentioning Albus to Draco.  
  
He wrote home a few months before summer began, when Spring in full swing; the gardens alight with colour and the air heady with sweet scents. Astoria was in the morning room, which she had taken a liking to after Narcissa’s passing. She had gone quietly; one evening she had wished them goodnight as she settled by one of the long windows, watching over the silent garden, and in the morning she had gone. Astoria hadn’t changed any aspect of the room, even leaving the chair by the window where Narcissa had last sat, but she now used the room for her painting, and for storing pressed flowers. She was taking tea when the letter arrived, the grey owl instantly recognisable.  
  
He began as he did every letter, a list of his marks in each subject, comments from various teachers on his performance, and books he recommended. Then he asked her advice, as he often did in various aspects of his life, although never in personal ones and she had never pried. He asked what she thought Father would say if he asked Albus to stay over the summer. He went on to give a rambling explanation of Albus being preoccupied the rest of the summer; this would be his only opportunity to see him until the next academic year.  
  
She found herself smiling as she read it, his deep affection for the other boy clearly apparent. For a fleeting moment she wondered if- But no, she was reading too much into it.  
  
Draco was surprisingly accommodating of his son’s wishes, taking one look at his wife’s face and simply nodding, “He can stay in the guest room adjacent to Scorpius’, will that be acceptable?”  
  
“Thank you.” She kissed his cheek.  
  
Albus Potter was polite and respectful, and very clearly nervous. He was shorter than Scorpius by a good few inches, but made up for it in being broad and stocky, no doubt after spending years with both his brother (who had been using Albus as a training dummy for years, according to Scorpius) and his mother’s cooking (‘Far too many carbohydrates’, had been her son’s only comments on Ginny Potter’s dinners after staying there regularly over the holidays since second year). His intelligence was plain when he spoke, however; engaging a surprised Draco in an intense debate on the pros and cons of using charms in the business world, as opposed to dealing with people directly.  
  
Scorpius was watching him with a strange expression, one which was a sweet combination of proud and caring. Astoria watched Scorpius and smiled into her soup.  
  
“Astoria,” She looked up from her book as Draco climbed into bed beside her, smoothing down the covers and staring at his hands fixedly.  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Scorpius-” He stopped, twisting his fingers around one another, “Scorpius is- That is, he-” He gave her a frustrated, pained look.  
  
She put down her book, taking his hands, “What is it?”  
  
“He and the Potter boy,  _Albus_ , they, are they...  _together_?”  
  
“Go to sleep, Draco.” She kissed his cheek and switched off the light. In the darkness she heard him mutter that it could have been worse. “How so?”  
  
“He could be with Nott’s son, at least this one’s intelligent.” After a minute or two he put his arm over her waist, pressing his face against her neck and breathing gently. She fell asleep with a smile on her face.

**Author's Note:**

> An image edit I threw together for this fic can be found [here](http://thegraceinyoureyes.tumblr.com/post/48129634374/astoria-astoria-draco-implied-albus-scorpius).
> 
> This was published on ff.net and livejournal quite a while ago, but I've just got around to moving all of my work onto here. For more of my writing before it's posted on here/updates on other fics, check out my [tumblr](http://thegraceinyoureyes.tumblr.com/).


End file.
